


Tempered in Weakness

by Morgelyn



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dances perilously close to the edges of fluff, Dubious Consent, Hand Jobs, Injury Recovery, M/M, Ramsay Bolton is His Own Warning, Sickfic, Sleep Sex, Stockholm Syndrome, Thramsay - Freeform, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:08:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24162577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgelyn/pseuds/Morgelyn
Summary: Written for the Thramsay Kinkmeme.Vedicanarchist requested: "Ramsay is wounded in battle, and orders Theon/Reek to tend to his wounds. Theon/Reek is very concerned for his master, and Ramsay is aroused by his touch."An injured Ramsay acts like even more of a petulant manchild than usual and a bewildered Reek does his best.
Relationships: Ramsay Bolton/Reek, Ramsay Bolton/Theon Greyjoy, Ramsay Bolton/Theon Greyjoy/Reek
Comments: 17
Kudos: 115
Collections: Thramsay2020 Kinkmeme Event





	Tempered in Weakness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Philosopherscribe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philosopherscribe/gifts).



> Hope you like it!

It was not unusual for a servant to run in terror from Ramsay Bolton's chambers, but they were usually covered in something other than soup. The girl's eyes only met Reek's for a moment before she scurried off down the corridor, but he could see the relief in them when she realised that the person she had knocked over was not anyone of importance and she would be not be in any further trouble. Angry cursing emanated from the open door as Reek clambered back to his feet, anxiety already pounding in his temples. This did not bode well at all. He took a deep breath and entered the room.

It seemed that Maester Wolkan was the current subject of his master's ire. He was leant over the large bed, evidently trying his best to do something with which Ramsay refused to cooperate. Reek lingered in the doorway awkwardly, head cast down, as he tried to calm himself. But the sound of his master's tirade made it impossible; he had learnt through bitter experience that his master's anger would eventually be taken out on him, regardless of the initial subject or cause. So Reek stood as still as he could, eyes fixed on the upturned bowl surrounded by splatters of soup on the floor, and waited for the inevitable moment when his master's attention - and therefore his wrath – would fall upon him.

It did not take long.

“Where in seven hells have you been?” He scowled at his bandaged shoulder. “You think this means you can get away with it? Because let me assure you, you will not.”

Reek shuddered. He had thought no such thing. Even in his weakened state, his master would still have him punished. Even if he had his Boys do it. Even if it was after he recovered. Even if he died, he would somehow find a way. No matter what, his master was still his master and Reek's pain was inevitable. Obeying would not mitigate it, but it could delay it, at least for a while.

“Sorry, m'lord.”

Ramsay sighed and lay back against the pillows. “Get me some wine.”

“M'lord, the maester said...” Reek was cut off by his master's glare. “Yes, m'lord.”

He managed to find a flask of red that did not smell like it had soured and poured his master a cup. Maester Wolkan had specified only water and broth, but the contradiction raised barely a ripple in Reek's broken mind; his master's orders were the only ones that really mattered, after all.

Ramsay had only taken a few sips before he started to retch. In his panic, Reek grabbed the discarded soup bowl from where it still lay on the floor and managed to catch most it, although some of the purple-tinged foam went over his mangled hands and dripped onto his master's chest.

When the vomiting spell had passed, Ramsay was left panting, his head lolled to one side. His pale eyes were glassy and his was hair plastered to his forehead in dark tendrils. The exertion had reopened his wound and there was a small patch of red where the blood had started to soak through the bandages. Reek stared, dumbfounded. He had seen his master covered in blood many times – drenched in it, in fact - but never his own. It seemed almost impossible that he could bleed like a man. Or like Reek. 

As Reek brought a cloth to wipe away the remains of the vomit, his master grabbed his bony wrist. His large hand encircled it easily, but the grip was weak. Reek could feel it shake, even over his own trembling. This was wrong, wrong, wrong. It was Reek that should tremble and bleed and suffer, not his master. Something was terribly amiss. He had lived so long in a state of permanent confusion, at the mercy of so many capricious and contradictory commands, but the one certainty he had was his place, and his master's. It was as if his world had been thrown from its axis. His mind momentarily flickered to a time when he had not known his place, when he – or someone – had thought himself equal to or even superior to his master. He chased the thought away in horror. Such audacious stupidity had led to terrible things, far worse even than being Reek. Better to be Reek, despite everything. 

His master released his grip, his hand laying limp and palm-up on the bedclothes, and he allowed Reek to clean his face and chest. He even allowed him to turn the cloth and wipe the sweat from his brow without so much as a disparaging remark, which left Reek even more perturbed. 

The rest of the day passed in a similar fashion, with Ramsay's moods veering wildly from petulant resistance to uncharacteristic passivity. Reek would bring him water, cringing as he offered the cup. Sometimes he would take it, sometimes he would allow Reek to bring the cup to his lips, and sometimes he would knock it from his trembling hands with a curse. The unpredictability, more extreme even than usual, was taking its toll on Reek's already frayed nerves.

“Why is it so bloody cold in here?” Ramsay was visibly shivering, the blankets pulled up close.

Reek looked sheepishly to the fire blazing in the hearth, then back to his master. What was he supposed to do? He knew he should wait for a specific order. Exercising his own flawed judgement had always ended in tears, all too often literally. He was too stupid, he would make a mistake and be punished for it. But he would also be punished for _not_ acting. And what was more, his master needed him; Reek belonged to Ramsay and Ramsay belonged to Reek, after all. His master had said that before, but the words now felt imbued with a new meaning, a new immediacy. He was stupid, worthless Reek with so little to give – nothing, in fact, save for his loyalty and, such as it was, his body.

Gingerly, expecting a blow at any moment, Reek climbed into the bed. He pulled the blankets round them both, carefully avoiding the wound on his shoulder. But his master did not even object when he wrapped his skinny arms around him. One arm behind his back and the other – the one that had only just healed, after his master had broken it with the butt of an axe – draped carefully over his broad chest.

“It's all right, m'lord. Everything is all right,” he said softly.

“Of course it's fucking all right,” Ramsay snarled, but he did not push him away.

Reek was taut as a drum. This had to be a trick of some sort or maybe a test, but he could not tell whether he was passing or failing. But his master's flesh was on fire even as it shook, burning with fever. He accepted Reek's embrace passively, his head lolling against his bony shoulder. This was not right, not right at all, and Reek forced himself to remain still as panic at the wrongness of the situation built within him. Reek should be the one to accept, to have things done to him. And his master should be the one to do them. For that to be reversed, even temporarily due to has master's condition, was unthinkable. It could only lead to bad things, terrible things. All the things that happened before...but he wasn't supposed to remember that; they had happened to someone else and not Reek. He was only supposed to remember the lessons they had taught him, not the events themselves. He didn't understand how that worked exactly, but he was slow, stupid Reek and there was much he didn't understand.

Reek wrestled fruitlessly with the problem for several hours, remaining stock-still as he fretted so as not to disturb his master snoring against his neck, until he too eventually fell asleep.

It was dark when Reek awoke, the fire burning low in the grate. A panic rose in him as he realised he was still in his master's bed; many was the time he had been thrown _on_ it, of course, but never _in_ it. And even then, not for longer than was necessary.

He should get out, to the floor if not back to the kennels, before his transgression was noticed and punished. But he was pinioned under his master's heavy arm and unable to move without waking him. It was so very wrong to feel the softness of the mattress beneath him. Even the weight of his master's arm was warm and comfortable, and he should be neither of those things, especially without permission.

He was unhappily trying to determine whether waking his master or being discovered his bed would induce the more severe punishment, when he felt movement behind him. _Gods, no, please don't let him be awake!_ But he didn't seem to be, not properly. Reek's relief was short-lived, however, as his master's body shifted again and he felt a distinct hardness press against his backside.

Reek's panic intensified. He should get on all fours, presenting himself. He should straddle his master's hips and ride him as best as his feeble thighs would allow. At the very least, he should turn and scoot down so his master could use his mouth. But could do none of these things whilst trapped beneath his arm. What was he supposed to do? His head spun; he was Reek and Reek was not meant to _decide_. Decisions were for his master.

He had to do something, however. Keeping the rest of his body as still as he could, he reached back with his right arm and carefully maneuvered his hand between their bodies. He was aware that even that was wrong, that he should be using his left because it still had more fingers, but that was pinned uselessly under his own body. He hesitantly took hold of his master's cock and began to stroke.

His master stirred slightly as he touched him, emitting a faint grunt, but that was the only reaction. Encouraged by the fact that he had not been immediately struck, Reek continued. As his speed increased, Ramsay began to murmur, indistinct sounds interspersed with the odd obscenity. Reek was not sure if he was still asleep or delirious with fever or both, but having started on this course of action, it would surely be worse to stop now.

Reek was struggling to maintain the pace; the awkward angle meant that he could only move from his wrist and his hand was already starting to cramp. He nearly pulled away in fright when he heard his master mutter intelligible words, but managed to control himself enough to carry on when he realised that he was still not entirely conscious.

“...should cut off your hands and feet...crawling around on bloody stumps...”

“Yes, m'lord,” he whispered in reply, not expecting to be heard but knowing he should answer anyway.

“...snap your spine over my knee like a twig...”

“Yes, m'lord.”

“...rip open your belly and drag out your filthy guts...”

“Yes, m'lord.”

“...flay every inch of skin off you...leave you raw and howling...and...” 

His master's body tensed as he climaxed, his teeth closing on Reek's neck just where it met the shoulder. But there was little force behind the bite; it didn't even break the skin. It almost felt like a kiss.

His body then relaxed as he settled into a more comfortable position, the shift of his arm drawing Reek closer, and he soon began to snore again. Reek lay still, feeling the wetness seep through his trousers and the way his master's strong heartbeat steadied even as his own continued to flutter. Then he began the long, slow, painstaking process of extracting his aching hand from where it was crushed between them without being noticed. 

Reek woke up with a start as he hit the floor. He was still half asleep and instinctively put out his hand to save himself, but his arm was numb from where his master's weight had been on it all night and could not support him. His chin smacked into the flagstones with a crack. Dazed, he pulled himself to his knees and looked round to see his master, foot still sticking out from under the covers where he had kicked him out of bed.

Ramsay sat up, leaning forward from the pillows to stretch and roll out the crick in his neck. There was still a wariness in the way he moved his right arm, mindful of the wound, but it did not seem to be causing him quite so much pain. His hair still clung damply to his forehead, but the colour was back in his face, his eyes coldly alert instead of vacant.

Reek looked up at his master from the floor. “M'lord...” He winced sharply as he spoke; he must have bitten his tongue. He could taste the blood pooling in his mouth and bobbed his head as he struggled to swallow it before trying again. “M'lord, are you feeling better?”

He huffed sarcastically. “Oh, yes, absolutely wonderful. Fetch the maester to change these bandages. And get my breakfast - I'm bloody ravenous.” Ramsay gave an ostentatious sniff. “And prepare a bath and get these sheets changed. It fucking stinks. I don't know what possessed you to think you could get away with spreading your filth all over the place, but you can be damn sure that you'll regret it.” 

Reek mumbled apologies and rushed to obey, but paused briefly at the door and turned. “I'm glad you're feeling better, m'lord.”

A strange, thoughtful look passed momentarily over his master's face, before it was replaced with a sneer. “What is it, Reek – worried you'd never get my cock up your arse again? Hurry up, before I decide to show you just how mistaken you would be to think _that_.”

Reek scurried out of the room. Despite everything, he _was_ glad that his master was better, that things were back to normal. Something about that thought troubled him in a way he couldn't quite bring himself to understand and that frightened him. So he pushed it deep down inside of himself, down with the other thoughts that belonged to someone who no longer existed. His master was his master, he was Reek, and things were exactly how they should be. There was scarce comfort in Reek's life, but he took what comfort he could in that. 


End file.
